


We All Scream

by MirabileLectu



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Children, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Ice Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:26:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirabileLectu/pseuds/MirabileLectu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he stood next to a van that had been filled to bursting with coolers packed with ice creams of all sorts while wearing a green and purple striped bowtie and homemade ice cream man hat, Martin could not help but wonder where exactly his life had gone so horrendously wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We All Scream

“You want to do _what_?”

Martin stared at Arthur as though the younger man had suddenly grown two heads and begun to dance the polka. Of course it was very likely true that _had_ such an event occurred Arthur would have enjoyed it immensely and would still be smiling as broadly as he was right now, but as it was there was simply one non-folk dancing head grinning widely at Martin with an open and earnestly pleading expression.

“Come on Skip, it’ll be great!” Arthur said happily, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet in excitement. He looked almost as happy as he had when that eccentric old man they had flown to Warsaw had promised them lavish tips throughout the flight that turned out to be far more bubblegum than they would ever need, a day that still lived in Martin’s memory as one of the most frustrating ever and in Arthur’s as quite possibly the best. But somehow the insane plan that Arthur had just cooked up and proposed to Martin seemed to surpass the bubblegum tips in both bewildering strangeness and the sheer joy it could cause for a 29 year old man for whom the concept of adulthood meant absolutely nothing.

Martin blinked slowly, thinking carefully on how best to tackle this. “Arthur,” he began carefully, “ _why_ exactly do you want to fill my van with ice cream and hand it out to children?”

“It’s simple Skip, just like I said – Douglas was bringing a bunch of shoes back from Italy with us for his friend Fred, you know, that one engineer at the airfield who walks kind of funny but nobody says anything cause that would be mean, and Fred was _supposed_ to give him some really nice cheese or something as a thank you because he had a bunch of extra cheese that nobody wanted, and _Douglas_ was going to take _that_ cheese with us to Moscow, but there was a bit of a mixup with Fred and somehow we ended up with _ice cream_ instead and Douglas doesn’t want it so he gave it to me because really, who would want ice cream in Moscow where it’s so cold already, that would just be _silly_.”

All of this came out in one breath, with Arthur somehow still standing, if slightly red-faced and panting, by the time he finished. Martin blinked twice, trying to sift through the torrent of information that had just been thrown at him and figure out if the answer to his question had been anywhere in there. After a moment of careful consideration he realized that at no point had Arthur actually answered his question, and another careful few seconds were spent wresting with both the desire to understand and the fear of unleashing another deluge of chatter. Curiosity won.

“Ok, I got all that, I think,” he said slowly, “But…my van? Why could you possibly need my van?”

Just as Martin had feared, Arthur brightened up once again and took a deep breath. “Oh right! The van! Well you see there really is _loads_ of ice cream, way more than I can eat by myself – I did try you know, I gave it a real cracking effort before mum stopped me and said I’d put myself in a coma if I kept going – so I have to figure out what to do with it so it doesn’t all just get thrown in the bin. And I was thinking, well, what would be just _brilliant_ is if I got to be an ice cream man! I always wanted to be one you know, when I didn’t want to be a pilot that is, but now I have all this ice cream, and you have a van, and it’s perfect! Think how brilliant it’ll be! All those happy kids, and the music, and we get to wear hats and bow ties –“

Martin held up his hand to cut Arthur off. “Just – stop. First of all, that is one of the stupidest ideas that I have ever heard, and I think we both know that’s saying something.” A look of hurt crossed Arthur’s face, and Martin clamped down firmly on the guilt that came along with it. “Oh I know you’re excited Arthur, but I use my van for _work_ , not silly games like pretending to be ice cream men. Besides, it doesn’t even have any freezers or anything in it, it’s a moving van after all, and a pretty old one at that. I don’t think it would even work.”

The smile on Arthur’s face dimmed slightly, a look of pleading entering the eyes that had gone suddenly round and sad. “Oh come on, please Skip? It’ll be so much fun, and it’ll make the kids so happy, and I have _always_ wanted to be an ice cream man even if it was just for one day. Please?”

“Oh…” Martin sighed heavily, feeling his resistance waning under the force of a man who could somehow perfected the ability to look like a sad and wounded puppy. “Oh, _fine_. But just for this afternoon, and,” he added hastily, cutting off the whoop of excitement before it began, “there will be _no_ bowties or silly hats involved.”

An hour later, Martin was standing next to a van that had been filled to bursting with coolers packed with ice creams of all sorts, wearing a green and purple striped bowtie and homemade ice cream man hat and wondering where exactly his life had gone so horrendously wrong. Apparently sometime after “Become A Professional Pilot” he had missed the turn for “Dignity” and ended up squarely in “Wear Silly Hats Like An Utter Twit”, with no sign of being able to find his way back. He didn’t even know where Arthur had managed to _find_ such garishly ugly bowties, or how only an hour’s notice had been enough for him to make construction paper facsimiles of the classic hat that were somehow even uglier than the originals. He suspected, without any irony or cynicism, that Arthur had a store of costumes and ridiculous clothes in readiness for occasions such as these. It didn’t seem far from the truth.

“Ready to go Skip?” Arthur asked cheerfully, proud of himself beyond measure that he had managed to not only fill a van with ice cream but convince his captain to wear the most absurd outfit known to mankind.

Martin briefly considered protesting and bringing this farce to an end, but the happy expression on Arthur’s face combined with the scolding he would likely get from Carolyn for upsetting him by backing out now convinced Martin that it was far too late. With a heavy sigh, he shrugged and muttered “Oh fine, let’s get this over with.”

They didn’t attract many customers at first. There were many possible reasons for this, ranging from the fact that Martin’s van looked nothing like an actual ice cream truck to the fact that the closest thing they could find to a cheery jingle was an old ABBA song blaring out of the van’s ancient stereo system as loud as they could manage. In fact, most of the parents they encountered hurried their children away from them while muttering under their breath and shooting them suspicious glares that clearly said what they thought of two men driving in a van that had a paper sign proclaiming “FREE ICE CREAM!” on the side. Martin was fairly sure that they could not look any more like criminals or the kind of men parents stay up at night worrying about if they tried. A flush of shame and pure mortification had fixed itself firmly on his face the moment they started blaring the music out of the open windows, growing only brighter when Arthur had happily begun to sing along and wave at every child they passed. If it were possible to sink through the floorboards of a van while driving it, Martin would have done so immediately.

“Arthur,” he hissed through gritted teeth, determinedly avoiding another glare being sent in his direction, “this is bloody ridiculous. We look like freaks!”

Either Arthur had not yet realized the implications of their actions or had decided that he simply did not care, as Martin’s words rushed briskly though one of his ears and straight out the other. “What are you talking about Skip, this is great! Look at us, being proper ice cream men!” He waved cheerfully to another family out for an afternoon stroll, smile dimming only slightly when they hurried away quickly. “Why isn’t anyone stopping though? We’ve got the van, we’ve got the music, we’ve even got a sign! Doesn’t anyone want ice cream?” he asked in confusion.

Martin sighed and rubbed a hand over his face in resignation. “It’s not that they don’t want ice cream, it’s that we’re not _actually_ ice cream men. We’re just two blokes in a van with a dodgy sign and loud music promising kids free ice cream. I’m not surprised no one is taking us up on it.”

The look that Arthur sent him was so bewildered it was as though Martin had spoken another language. “But why? I thought everyone loved ice cream?”

_Oh my God he actually doesn’t get it._

Martin stared at Arthur, not quite believing what he was hearing and yet at the same time not surprised in the slightest. However it had happened, Arthur had somehow managed to live 29 years of his life without realizing why parents would not want their children taking free ice cream from strange men in a van. It was something of a minor miracle that the man had lived this long without being murdered, arrested, or some combination of the two.

Martin opened his mouth to explain exactly why that had not had any customers yet and why they were getting so many glares that were scorching enough to set them ablaze, but something stopped him at the last moment. Did he _really_ want to go through such an unpleasant explanation just to shatter Arthur’s innocence? It was absurd that he should worry about this in the first place of course – Arthur was a grown man for God’s sake, not a child, but something inside Martin still warned him against an explanation. Was it really worth the effort?

“Well Arthur…um…” he hesitated, searching for any explanation other than the truth, “Well most people don’t just _give_ away free ice cream, do they? It’s a bit weird just to be handing it out, people might think there’s something wrong with it.”

“I suppose…” Arthur trailed off, eyes downcast. Martin had never seen him so dejected, not even when a flight was cancelled.

But suddenly, an idea flashed into Martin’s brain. He had no clue why he was trying to save this whole ridiculous venture that he had not even wanted to get involved with in the first place, but stubbornness that so frequently got him into more trouble than he cared to think about once again reared its head. He had gotten himself into this situation, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to get himself out of it properly. Besides, he had a van full to bursting with ice cream that needed to be dealt with.

“Why don’t we _sell_ the ice cream instead of just trying to give it away?” he asked, hoping that Arthur would buy into his modified plan. “For, I don’t know, 50p or something? That’ll get loads of kids to come by with their pocket money.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. “ _Sell_ it? But I don’t want to take money from kids for something I got for free, that seems, I don’t know…wrong.”

“What if we don’t keep the money? We can…um…oh I know! We can donate it somewhere! I think I saw a sign or a poster about how the local library needs money, how does that sound?”

There was a moment of weighty silence as Arthur considered the proposal. “I’m not sure Skip, do you think it’ll work?”

“Definitely” Martin said decisively, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that was politely letting him know that he had finally gone over the edge into insanity. “Do you still have the paper and pens you used to make the sign?” Arthur nodded. “Good, let’s go.”

Half an hour and one hastily constructed sign later, the van was stationed at the nearest park with the back doors thrown wide open and music blaring. Martin had taken charge of the sign making this time, carefully lettering out the words “ICE CREAM FOR A CAUSE! ALL ICE CREAM 50P, ALL PROCEEDS DONATED TO LOCAL LIBRARY!”. It wasn’t much of a sign, and it didn’t do much to advertise their wares, but it would have to do. Arthur had brightened up considerably now that they had a new plan of action, and the grin on his face was once more manic in its intensity as he fussed with the sign and the coolers and tried to get everything set up just _perfect_. He was a man on a mission to sell at least one ice cream today, even if it was the last thing he did.

Truthfully, things were still not looking good.  They may have not been on the receiving end of quite so many death glares now that they were not driving slowly down the street offering free ice cream to random children, but they certainly had not yet had anyone work up enough courage to actually come talk to them, much less buy anything from them. There were several children who had stopped to stare with wide and pleading eyes at the promise of ice cream, but a quick scolding from mum or dad had ended that proposition before it had even begun and each child had been hurried away in bitter disappointment. Martin did not have high hopes for their success even now that they did not look like criminals, but even as he was turning to Arthur to broach the idea of giving up, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

It was a little girl, likely no more than six or seven years old, and she was standing several feet away from them clutching a pound coin in her fist. She was staring at them with wide and solemn eyes, obviously enticed by the promise of ice cream but too frightened to step any closer. Martin gave Arthur a quick nudge to get his attention,

“Excuse me” she said slowly and seriously, concentrating very hard on what her mum had undoubtedly told her to say, “may I buy an ice cream please?”

Arthur’s sudden smile was blinding. He crouched down to be on the girl’s level, saying excitedly, “Oh you bet you can have an ice cream! What kind would you like? We’ve got _loads_ – chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, we’ve even got this swirly one with little squidgy bits of chocolate, that one’s brilliant trust me I had about ten yesterday.”

The little girl stared at him solemnly, apparently unfazed and unimpressed by this enthusiasm. Arthur’s smile did not dim one bit. “Don’t worry, take your time. It’s a _very_ important decision.”

There was another long moment of silence as the girl’s brow furrowed in thought, before she declared with monumental gravity, “I want chocolate.”

“Good choice, chocolate’s brilliant!” Arthur sprang into action, rummaging through the coolers to find the one containing chocolate while Martin took the girl’s pound coin with an encouraging smile. By the time he had fished 50p in change out of his pocket, grateful that he had not spent it earlier as he had intended, Arthur had returned with a chocolate ice cream clutched triumphantly in his hand like a token of victory. The girl took it from him and turned to run back to her mum who had been watching carefully from ten feet away, remembering at the last moment as she fled to yell a muffled “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” Arthur shouted back with a happy wave, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that Skip? We sold one! We actually sold some ice cream to someone! Oh, that was brilliant!”

Martin did not quite see the thrill in selling just one ice cream when they still had an entire van to go through, but even he had to admit that there had been something oddly satisfying in serving that little girl.

And just like that, as if their first sale had been the pebble that started the rockslide, they began to attract more business. Signaled by the first brave customer, children began to trickle over, alone under the watchful gazes of their parents, or in clumps of twos and threes jostling for position, each child looking uncertain until Arthur greeted them with a thousand-watt smile and boundless enthusiasm. At one point they even had a small crowd of children clustered around the with a few sheepish teenagers standing at the back, sending Arthur running like a madman to fetch all of their orders and Martin struggling to keep up with their money. It was madness, sheer insanity, and Martin realized with a start and a happy grin that he was loving every second of it.

If he had been asked just a few hours ago whether or not he would enjoy serving ice cream to children while wearing a bowtie and silly hat, Martin would have laughed aloud and then probably asked how much alcohol had prompted that question. But now, surrounded by smiling and laughing children, receiving a chorus of “thank yous” and excited cries for every ice cream he handed out, Martin found that there was a smile on his face that would not go away and a lightness in his soul he barely recognized. So often, more often than he cared to think about, both Martin’s paid and unpaid jobs resulted in screams, vicious scoldings, some  sort of disaster, and sometimes all three at once.  No matter how wonderful the chance to fly an aeroplane could be, there were times that flights on GERTI resulted in nothing but stress and humiliation, and any job that involved his van was nothing but a reminder of his failure to secure a job as a real pilot.

But here he was, standing next to his battered old van in the middle of a park, handing out ice cream to children. Here he was, smiling and laughing with his coworker, bringing smiles to the faces of others with a silly idea that had occurred to them two hours ago. It was absolutely absurd, but Martin was fairly certain that this was the most fun that he had had weeks. No matter that he looked foolish right now, or that anyone who was not Arthur would certainly mock him mercilessly for this bit of silliness. For right now, the sun was shining, children were laughing, and he was happy.

Life was good.


End file.
